Blossoming A Spring Day
by Death's Inevitable Kiss
Summary: Haruhi Yamamoto is a sickly heiress who needs to prove her worth. She needs to stop being so dependent on the people around her and make her mother proud. She needs to prove to her step mother that she is worthy of inheriting Yamamoto Corp. She needs to do a lot of things, but first she needs to get accepted into Ouran High School. AU Rich!Haruhi Dependent!Haruhi Pre-Ouran


_**Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High School or any of it's characters. I don't even own the basic plot. This story was inspired by** SariauChan**. I only own OCs that were created to fit the plot.**_

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**Author's Note: So I was really hesitant about posting this since I've had it written up for months but haven't really written more than this one chapter. As it is, this story is a trial. I have so much planned for it, but not enough time to actually write it. I decided to post it because I thought that someone might like it and, I don't know, be inspired? I honestly don't know, but I'm posting it. I can't make promises that I'll finish this, but I really want to. So, enjoy? I don't even know...**

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**Blossoming A Spring Day**

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**1.1. Introducing Haruhi Yamamoto!**

* * *

Twelve years old was a big milestone in any child's life. Not only was it one step closer to being a teenager, but it was an age that transitioned one from the squabbling scoundrels in elementary school to the big kids of middle school. However, Haruhi Yamamoto did not know of this milestone. She was unaware of the significance it held for normal children because Haruhi herself was not a normal child.

This birthday—her twelfth birthday—was no more special than all the rest of her previous ones. In the end, they were all the same, really. She would spend the day in her room like usual, hopefully healthy enough to be able to eat all three meals of the day in the dining room with her family, be forbidden from having sweets by her father, and then fall asleep after hours of staying up looking at a picture of her late mother. It was the same as every other day, except that she wasn't forced to further herself in her studies.

Sometimes, Haruhi would find amusement in imagining herself as a princess trapped in a tower. All she needed was a knight in shining armor to come slay the dragon that was her father and save her so she could live happily ever after. An unladylike snort escaped her as she thought about that. Her? A princess? Knight in shining armor? Please! Nothing could be funnier.

"Well, I'm glad to see that you've awoken from your slumber, Sleeping Beauty," the warm, familiar voice of Haruhi's caretaker teased as he walked into her large bedroom with a handful of maids behind him. They carried plates of food with them as they obediently went to set up her breakfast at her desk.

"Makoto-san," Haruhi greeted before promptly bursting into laughter. "Are you sure you're not a mind reader, Makoto-san? You always seem to know exactly what I'm thinking; it's kinda scary."

"Well, Haruhi-hime, if it scares you so much, I'll stop."

"But then I'll have no one to tell me when I'm being stupid." The brunette scrambled to the end of her bed, kicking at her sheets and nightgown in irritation as she went. Her large, brown eyes stared up at him as she pouted. She was just barely able to make out the blur that was Makoto Sato without her glasses on.

Makoto frowned. "I've spent too much time around you, it seems. You've picked up my form of speaking. Shinju-sama won't be happy."

"Sato-sama," one of the maids called, her head bowed low. "We've finished the preparations."

"You're dismissed, Midori-chan," Makoto replied.

The maid bowed lower, her cheeks staining red as she rushed out of the bedroom with the other maids.

"She likes you, Onii-san," Haruhi mused.

"Who? Midori-chan?" he questioned. Scratching his chin idly, he contemplated the idea. "Well, she does blush a lot. That doesn't mean she likes me, though."

"Of course not, _Sato-sama_." She busted out laughing again.

"Oh, hardy har har. You're _so_ funny, imoto. I could just die right now." He mutters to himself, "You've really been around me too long."

Haruhi watched her caretaker bustle around the room calmly, her head against her hand as she slouched on her bed. She wasn't blind enough to not notice that her Onii-san was attractive; even without her glasses she could tell. He was tall, for one, and fit. He had the warmest green eyes, unruly brown hair, and a smile that had every maid in the manor gushing.

It annoyed her, though, that _he _didn't see how attractive he was.

"You're oblivious," she decided.

Makoto stopped organizing the china and silverware. Turning around to face her, he arched a brow. "Look at the pot calling the kettle black."

"Pffft, don't you have a job to do, Onii-san? You shouldn't waste your time making idle conversation with your employer."

"Since you're obviously healthy enough to have an attitude," he smirked, "you can get up off your butt and get yourself dressed before Nishimura-sempai shows up."

Haruhi pouted as she grabbed her glasses and stood on unsteady legs. She took shaky steps towards her closet. Her legs hurt. A lot. She hated being so frail and sickly like she was. Just getting to her closet had her heartbeat up and bounding. She could never get anything done like this, not without being so pathetic.

When she grew up, Haruhi vowed, she would be strong and independent; she'd never ask anyone for help because she would never need it.

Reaching the door to her closet was like reaching a large milestone for the fatigued girl. She was triumphant over this minor obstacle, and it made her smile. However, the contents of her closet made her cringe slightly. Bright magentas and blinding oranges made up half of her wardrobe while the other half was pink. And frilly. Sometimes she felt that the maids just loved to use her as their own dress-up doll.

As Haruhi went about the task of dressing herself, Makoto quickly served the girl's breakfast. It was something she had very rarely ever had before in her life, but he knew she would love. A large slice of fresh, strawberry cake sat in the dead center of a pristinely clean plate. A tall glass of vanilla soymilk stood proudly next to it.

"Trying to poison my favorite patient, I see, Sato-chan." An aging man in a casual suit stood in the doorway of the bedroom, briefcase firmly in his hand as he watched the younger man grin sheepishly from over his glasses.

"Nishimura-sempai, you're here earlier than I thought you'd be." Makoto laughed nervously.

"It is Nishimura-_sensei _to you, Sato-chan." He scoffed. "And I am glad that I am. Who knows what could have happened had I not come to stop you from feeding this to the young heiress."

"W-what? Pshhaw! Me? Feed the sick daughter of my boss a birthday cake on her birthday? W-why would I do that?" Makoto rubbed at his neck. "Okay! Fine. But, come on! She's turning twelve years old and the last time she ever ate a sweet was when she was five. And it's got strawberries. See? So it's healthy!"

The man, Masaru Nishimura, eyed the cake that his friend held out skeptically before sighing wearily. "I know nothing of this, understood?"

"Nothing of what, Ojii-sama?"

The two men turned to see Haruhi stepping out of her closet carefully. Her long hair fell flat around her pale, sweating face, reminding them just how frail she actually was. Her eyes, however, told them how happy she was to have them there. She wore a soft pink dress that screamed simplicity, the frills kept to a minimum at the hem of the ankle length garment.

"I do not know," answered Nishimura. "I know nothing of it."

Haruhi and Makoto sweatdropped.

"Onii-san, what's Oj—_is that a cake?_"

The sweet had Haruhi rushing over quickly; her eyes were glued to the large and plump strawberry that sat atop it. She could just feel her stomach acids churning, preparing itself to digest that delicious, sugary, mouthwatering—

"Gaki, you're drooling."

"I don't even care right now," Haruhi breathed.

"Yeah, Nishimura-sempai," Makoto teased, "don't bother Haruhi-hime. It's not her fault she's never seen a treasure like this in years. I mean, she's not the one that hired an old geezer like you to dictate every little dietary restriction of hers."

"Why you li—" Nishimura raised a fist threateningly.

"Can I eat it? Please, Ojii-sama? I promise I'll never eat another sweet until I'm thirty if you just let me take a bite out of this!"

The doctor sighed wearily, his face sagging as he grudgingly nodded. "Yes, yes, but I know nothing of this, understood? If Shinju-gozen ever hears of this, it will be the end of me. The end of you, too, Sato!"

The servant and his young charge decided to ignore the raging old man as Makoto handed Haruhi a large, clean fork. She took it eagerly and stabbed the large strawberry quickly. It was in her mouth in seconds.

A loud and long moan filled the air as Haruhi savored the sugar coated psuedofruit.

* * *

Shinju Yamamoto was a trophy wife through and through. She was charismatic, attractive, an amazing hostess, and just over all radiant. She had been primped from a young age in the art of proper etiquette and the way of the elite. Her upbringing revolved around one thing: marrying into a well-off family.

And that she did.

Unfortunately, she had never anticipated the unwanted baggage that her husband would carry. This particular baggage was named Haruhi.

The woman, so beautiful with her porcelain skin and dark, silky hair, scowled venomously,

Pah! 'Spring Day?' She absolutely despised Spring. And that stupid girl. And that stupid girl's stupid health problems. All she ever did was sit around, lazing about as she milked her illness for all it was worth. Millions of yen that could've gone towards Shinju and her needs were being drained by that stupid girl and her stupid medical expenses.

"If you keep frowning, dear, you will get wrinkles."

Shinju scowled deeper. Her husband just didn't understand!

"I just do not understand the purpose behind tonight's dinner. Your daughter, Ryouta, is unwell. There is no reason to waste our resources on something she cannot even attend."

Haruhi's father, Ryouta Yamamoto, simply smiled at his wife. He didn't understand her quarrel with her daughter's birthday dinner. It was a simple event, really: a meal between five people to celebrate his only child's twelfth year of life.

"Is she even healthy enough to make it down the stairwell?" Shinju brushed at her hair viciously. "I saw her yesterday and she was much too pale to be better."

"Nishimura-sensei paid Haruhi a visit this morning. She received an iron injection right after her breakfast and should be well enough to join us." Ryouta adjusted his tie as he came up behind the angry woman. "Now, honey, do not rip your gorgeous hair out. After all, you _are_ supposed to look better than me."

The comment, though meant to be a joke, infuriated Shinju all the more. She didn't need to be reminded that she was barely more attractive than her husband. Nor did she feel the need to be reminded that her husband's hair was far better than hers. It was silkier, sleeker, and much more eye catching with its vibrant red color. It was borderline feminine.

She forced him to always keep it tied back.

"I just want this blasted day to be over with."

* * *

"Haruhi, if you feel faint, just let us know, okay? We'll take you right back up to your room." Makoto was fretting over a flushed Haruhi as she eased herself into a dining chair. Nishimura was sat next to her, idly cleaning his glasses as he ignored the girl's caretaker.

"Onii-san, I'm _fine_. Stop worrying so much." Jeez, she was getting a serious headache. Though it was probably more to do with her recent injection than the worrying male next to her.

"B-but, what if you suddenly get struck with a dizzy spell and drown in your soup!?"

"Sato-chan, sit down and wait for the master and his wife to join us, will you?"

"Yeah, Onii-san, you should really listen to Ojii-sama before he kills you in your sleep. He is a doctor, you know."

Makoto sniffed indignantly before seating himself next to his young charge. "You're obviously well."

"I am glad to hear you say that, Sato-san." Everyone seated at the round table rose quickly at the sound of Ryouta Yamamoto's voice, Haruhi a little slower than the others. They bowed quickly and sat once acknowledged. "I was becoming worried that my precious daughter would not be able to get out of bed."

"Father." Haruhi smiled.

"Happy birthday, my dear one." Ryouta walked over to the brunette and kissed the top of her head. Brushing her bangs out of the way, he planted another kiss on her forehead. It was a rare sign of affection from the usually stoic business tycoon, but it was not unwelcomed. The amount of times her father hugged her could be counted on one hand.

"Yes," Shinju smiled bitterly, "_happy_ birthday."

Haruhi's smile wilted a bit. She wasn't stupid. She knew Shinju despised her. It was blatantly obvious to everyone save for the man who sired her.

"Ano…thank you, Shinju-san."

"Well, let us not wait for the food to chill." Her father helped his wife into his chair before taking his seat at the circular table. "Please, eat. Or else the birthday girl will have a fit."

"Father…" Haruhi sunk in her chair a bit.

Ryouta's hazel eyes were surprisingly warm as he peered at her. He almost seemed, the brunette dared to think, _happy_. "Am I wrong?"

She didn't say anything as a couple of servants came out with their meal. The air suddenly became tainted with the aroma of freshly made food. Her mouth began to water in anticipation. Would she actually be allowed to eat something _other _than vegetables and grains?

"Excuse me, but _what _is _that_?" Shinju looked scandalized at Haruhi's plate.

"Ootoro, Shinju-sama." One of the servants bowed respectfully.

"Yes, I am aware that that is ootoro." Shinju scowled. "What I want to know is why it is on Haruhi's plate."

The servant looked at a loss for words. "I apologize, but I only serve the food…"

"Take this back and tell our ex-chef to prepare her usual meal," she hissed.

"Kimi, calm yourself. No one is being fired today." Ryouta calmly wiped at his mouth. "I told the chef to make Haruhi the ootoro; it was her mother's favorite meal."

Haruhi stared at the fancy tuna sadly. _Kaa-san…_

"That is of no importance to me," Shinju spat. "She will not eat this."

"If I may speak, Shinju-goz—" Nishimura tried to cut in.

"No. You may _not _speak."

"Now, kimi, I think that you are taking this wro—"

"Do not speak to me as if I am in the wrong, Ryouta! If I am obliged to have a child when I do not want nor need one, then I refuse to have a _fat_ child."

"While I understand the need to be cautious with Haruhi when it comes to the threat of obesity, especially with her poor health condition, Shinju-gozen, forcing her into a diet that substantially lacks iron when she already suffers from a hereditary iron deficiency is inhumane," Nishimura snapped. "I've tried to do all within my power to help, but supplying and administering iron supplements are all that I can do without having a say in her diet."

"Are you accusing me of being the reason that she is ill!?" Shinju fumed. "I would watch my words if I were you, Nishimura, because it would be very unfortunate if—"

"'If', what, Shinju-chan?" Ryouta sat with his back erect as he took in the situation with narrowed eyes. Sato-san had his eyes lowered to his plate as he chewed on a carrot nervously. Nishimura-sempai was red in the face; the man's glasses were slowly slipping off of the bridge of his nose as he glared at Ryouta's wife. Shinju was equally red, her face pinching unattractively as she met Nishimura's gaze just as viciously. And Haruhi seemed to be disappearing into her seat as the arguing continued; her eyes were downcast.

Shinju seemed to think on her coming words before she sighed and relaxed her facial muscles. "Nothing, anata. Nothing."

"I apologize, Yamamoto-sama." Nishimura patted a napkin to his lips as he tried to calm himself. "I did not wish to be rude."

"Nonsense, old friend. If anything, this…conversation…has enlightened me." Ryouta dismissed the servant that was awkwardly waiting for the decision on the ootoro. "Musume—daughter—eat. If you wait much longer, it will start to rot."

Shinju made a choked sound as she tried to refrain from screeching when the brunette tentatively popped a piece of the dish into her mouth. The woman could just picture the fat packing on… She shuddered.

"Well?"

Haruhi looked at her father, thrilled. "It's delicious!"

"I am glad it is to your liking. Nishimura-sempai will be speaking with the chef about your diet. I believe it would be unwise to keep you on the meals of a rabbit. 'Vegetarian'? Pah, what you need is meat to make you stronger."

"Ryouta!" Everyone at the table turned to face Shinju. She was absolutely livid. "Her diet will stay the way it is!"

"Are you instructing me on how to do what is best for my daughter? For the heiress of Yamamoto Corp.?"

"Some heiress she is," Shinju snorted. "Sitting up without help has her winded. Do you really think she is capable of managing the largest weapons manufacturing company in the Northern Hemisphere?"

Haruhi bowed her head. She was grateful for the long curtain of hair that obscured her face from view. Her hands that rested on her lap tightened into fists. She knew she was very sickly, but that didn't mean she wasn't… Would her father really deny her what was rightfully hers? Deny her of her birthright?

"And just what exactly are you implying, Shinju?"

There was a large stretch of silence as Haruhi, Makoto, and Nishimura watched the married couple silently. They didn't even dare to think of eating.

"I think," Shinju started off carefully, "that Haruhi is unfit for such a respo—"

"I refuse to have this conversation again." Ryouta pinched the bridge of his nose.

'_Again'? _Haruhi's breath hitched.

"And I refuse to let you make that _vermin_ the heir to your company!" she shrieked.

The faint sounds of servants at work on the estate were silenced. Haruhi fought back tears. She wouldn't cry. She would _not_ cry. Her mother wouldn't cry, of that she was sure. What would her mother do? She would…her mother would fight. She was always good at that. She was good with words. She could turn someone's words against them in a second. After all, she was a lawyer.

Could…could _Haruhi_ do that? She wasn't entirely sure. Ever since her mother had passed, her father had grown stricter in enforcing the relationship between father and daughter as that of adult and child. Could a child truly speak out against an adult? She gnawed on her lip. No, a child couldn't, and she was only twelve. She was still a child.

But her mother would tell her to fight. She would encourage her to speak her mind. Fight for what she believed. _Defend herself_.

"It's my birthright," Haruhi said quietly.

"_What?_"

Haruhi cleared her throat as she locked gazes with her infuriated stepmother. Her mother wouldn't back down. "It's my birthright to take over Yamamoto Corp. after my father. I'm his first and only child. You're the stepmother. You cannot take this away from me."

"_Why you—!"_

"She is right." Ryouta didn't even glance at his wife; he was eyeing his daughter carefully, calculating. "Haruhi will be the next to take over the family business."

"But, anata—sweetheart—Haruhi is too sick to handle thi—" Shinju tried vainly.

"She will heal. She will grow. This, I know." Ryouta had taken to ignoring both females and was now facing the two other men at the table. "Nishimura-sempai, I would like to ask you to rework Haruhi's entire health plan. I am aware that she has inherited her mother's condition, but I would like you to only prescribe her iron supplements should she need them. Increase the iron in her meals, too. Only use injections in dire cases."

"Yes, sir."

"Sato-san." The caretaker sat up straighter. "Do not allow Haruhi to be confined to her room any longer. Her school studies will be done in the East Study and her business studies will be done in the West Study."

"But, sir, those are on opposite sides of the est—"

"I am well aware." Ryouta casually bit into his now cold meal and swallowed. "Arrange for her to take swimming lessons as well. She needs sun; she is far too pale."

"Y-yes, Yamamoto-sama."

"Well?"

"E-excuse me, sir?"

"What are you three still doing here? Go! Haruhi, walk with Sato-san while he works. Build you strength up."

"H-hai!"

As the three people left, Ryouta was left with his fuming wife. He looked at her impassively. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Something told him that he wouldn't be sharing a bed that night. He didn't even spare the energy to try to care.

No, Ryouta was far too busy puzzling over his daughter. Could it be that he had misjudged her all of these years?

* * *

"…Umehito, Akiyama, Fukui, Morinozuka, Hashimoto, Haninozuka…"

"Good. Excellent. Though the Umehito family falls more under our rivals than actual business partners."

"But, 'Sato-sensei', I thought Yamamoto Corp. had an agreement with the Umehito family that we wouldn't sell firearms outside of East Asia if they didn't sell them in it…"

"That's true, Haruhi, but they're still our ri—"

"So we're partners."

"Not exactly. All we had was an agreement on re—"

"Not exactly meaning that I'm right in a sense."

"Yes…but we don't conduct business with them at all."

"But we could."

"We could, but we don't."

"But we _could_."

"Yes, Haruhi, we could. Now, back to your studies."

"So why don't we?"

"'Don't we', what?"

"Conduct business with the Umehito."

"That's beside the point, Haruhi-hime. Now, please, the _lesson_."

"So what is the point?"

"Argh, you're doing this on purpose. Look, if you just—bleh, I don't know—name the different merchandise we supply to each company, we'll call it quits for today, and you can get on with your swim lesson."

"But I'm hungry, 'Sato-sensei'."

"Stupid, rich, bastards…"

* * *

"Well, Haruhi-chan, how do you feel?"

"A little dizzy, Ojii-sama, and tired."

"Yes, well, that's normal. Your change in diet seems to be doing you wonders."

"But I still need the tablets, and sometimes I need to take naps because of how sleepy I get."

"Hereditary iron absorption defect. Your mother had the same thing. Though you seem to have it much easier than she did."

"Really, Ojii-sama?"

"Yes, yes. Now, tell me, how do you like the food you get now?"

"Mmmh, ootoro…"

"It's very unladylike to drool."

"Mmmh…"

"Tch, just like your mother. Now, if you excuse me, Haruhi-gozen, I must go attend to your father's wife. It would seem that she has come down with a stomach bug recently. Her head has become a permanent part of the toilet with how often she's there."

"Gross."

* * *

Haruhi had gotten better over the past three weeks. Not necessarily well, but better. She still couldn't be as independent as she liked (what with nearly passing out from overexertion every twenty minutes), but she didn't need to stick a needle in her bum every week just to be able to function properly anymore.

The first week had been the hardest. Her body was used to being in one place only, so walking from one half of the large estate to the next had been very taxing on her. Not to mention that she had swimming lessons everyday right after her studies were complete. The only upside was that her meals were now so mouthwatering and diverse that it completely made her forget about how drained she was.

Of course, it came as no surprise to the staff that her new favorite dish was ootoro, also known as fancy tuna. She really was just like her mother.

However, while it seemed that Haruhi's health was improving, the health of Shinju Yamamoto seemed to be at a standstill. Every morning and evening she would be emptying the contents of her stomach despite whatever measures she took, but during the day she was perfectly fine. The estate's staff seemed to be alight with whispers of theories that Haruhi just couldn't come to. She was absolutely clueless about what was going on with her stepmother.

Until February twenty-eighth, that is.

"Haruhi-chan, may I speak to you?" Shinju was being strangely polite today.

"H-hai, Shinju-san." Setting down the book on Trigonometry, the brunette followed the woman out of the study and into one of the many sitting rooms within the manor. She waited for Shinju to take a seat on an armchair before tentatively lowering herself onto a loveseat.

"I wanted to discuss the matter of your inheritance with you, Haruhi-chan."

"What about it?" Haruhi didn't see anything wrong with her response, but the way that the woman's face seemed to stiffen just the slightest bit told her that it wasn't the right thing to say. Or, at least, it wasn't what the woman had wanted to hear.

"Well, you see, your inheritance is being cut," Shinju explained. Her smile made her seem smug rather than apologetic. "In half."

"Wha'? Could you repeat that? I don't think I heard you right."

"No, you heard me perfectly fine, my dear." Yes, Shinju's smile was definitely smug. "You see, you won't be your father's only child for much longer. Which also means that you won't be the only contender for taking over the family business. Actually, I do believe that you would be very fortunate to even receive a quarter of what you claim you so rightly deserve."

"'won't be'… Wait. You're pregnant."

"Oh, look at that. The little girl has pieced it together. Maybe you're not as dumb as I originally thought you were." Shinju smirked. "Yes, I'm pregnant; I'm carrying the rightful heir to Yamamoto Corporation."

"I'm the rightful heir," Haruhi said indignantly.

"You? Please!" She laughed. "You are nothing but a Mudblood desperately trying to convince the world that her veins bleed Blue. Just like that whore you so proudly call your mother."

"That's a lie."

"Would I ever lie to you? Oh, you should've seen her, flaunting around on the arms of both Yamamoto Twins. When she was with your Uncle Ryouji, all I could think was 'good riddance!' Vermin should always stay with vermin." Shinju's beautiful face contorted into something ugly as she spat the words out. "Imagine my surprise—_my mortification_—when I came to meet with my betrothed, your father, and I saw her draped over him like a bloody blanket. He didn't even look at me when he broke it off. Said he was marrying her, he did. They were completely in love, he said. It didn't even matter that she was supposedly in love with your uncle not even a month before."

Haruhi stayed silent. Shinju was lying. She had to be. For one, the brunette didn't even know that her father had ever met the woman before her grandfather had arranged them to marry a year after her mother passed. Not to mention that no one had ever mentioned an Uncle Ryouji to her.

"My child will be raised to take over the company. He will not be weak like you. He will not have any bad genes at all like your mother did, like you do. I mean, look at you. How do you expect to run a global corporation when you haven't even run around your estate? You know nothing of the world, of the people that live there. You are unfit to be an heiress."

"No. I will be the heiress. I _am _the heiress," Haruhi said. She stood up quickly and swayed for a minute as everything started to spin. When it settled, she said, "I'll prove it. I'm not sure how yet, but I'll prove that I'm capable of managing my father's company."

Shinju eyed her for a moment before she leaned back in her seat. "Your attitude is very cute, Haruhi, so I will give you a proposition, of sorts. Give up your claim to the company, and I will make sure your inheritance is large enough to buy Mt. Fuji."

"I refuse to give up what's mine."

The woman sighed loudly. "You just love making things difficult for yourself, do you not, Haruhi? Fine. I suppose history just always repeats itself, no? First Ryouji and Ryouta, and now you and your future sibling. The elder sibling always ends up in the dumps as a mere commoner it seems." She stood up gracefully, not sparing the pale girl a glance. "Vermin should _always_ stay with vermin."

And she left.

Haruhi's mind was swimming with information as she searched for her father. She would prove her worth as an heiress. She wasn't worthless. She wasn't.

She would prove it, she knew, with the help of her 'vermin' uncle.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this, Haruhi-hime?" Makoto rubbed his face tiredly as the car they were in moved ever closer to the apartment complex. "You know this means I'm out of a job, right?"

"Quiet, Sato-chan. This is good for her." Nishimura adjusted his glasses and turned to face the small brunette that was squished in between the two men in the back of the car. "I am very proud of your decision, Haruhi-gozen. Your mother would be very proud as well. I am certain that you will make a remarkable heiress."

"Thank you, Ojii-sama." Haruhi smiled.

The car pulled into the complex's parking lot soon after. Her nerves were through the roof as she looked at the place she would be living in for who knew how many years. Until high school, was her agreement with her father, she recalled. Or until she was accepted into Ouran Academy. Whichever came first.

Haruhi had just stepped out of the car when a red blur slammed into her.

"Ahh~! Haruhi-chan~! You're so big now! I'm your Uncle Ryouji, but you can just call me Auntie Ranka!"

Haruhi blinked as she looked at the gorgeous woman before her, her Uncle Ryouji. Her left eye started twitching as he continued to prattle on about babies, spit, and her mother. Somehow, she knew, it wasn't the fact that her uncle was a crossdresser that was going to cause her to have never-ending headaches.

She also knew, though, that this experience was going to be good for her.

* * *

**Author's Note: I mainly wanted to write this story so that I can practice my character development. I have a specific mind set that I want Haruhi to have by the end of the story, and I want to practice actually getting there. I hope I have time to actually write it, but, knowing me, I won't. So please don't expect regular updates on this, because that is definitely not going to happen. This is for my own practice and enjoyment. I won't ask you to review, though I would really appreciate constructive criticism on plot development, originality, character development, etc. **

**Thanks, Death's Kiss. :)  
**


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